Veronica Keighlen Nelson

A Lonely Christmas

so, this is my first blog here and i decided to put up a story of mine i wrote a few days ago. the reason that it doesn't really have an ending is because i don't know how i should end it yet. there will definitely be another part. tell me what you think. :)

Glancing at the morning sky, she wondered where he could be. She hasn't heard of him in at least a month. And he's not really the type of guy who gets back to the same place twice. He was a runaway. She was a stayer. But she loved him so much that only if he had told her he was leaving, she'd have had came with him. With a teardrop peeking out her eye, a knock on the door brought her back to reality. "Ms. Patterson, your mail is here." She opened the door as if it was a death sentence waiting outside. She grabbed the mail without taking a look at Henrey, the postman. "If only one of the letters was from him", she thought and quickly went trough all of the letters. Mostly, they were bills. But the last one seemed to had gotten deep to her. It was a court annotaion. For him. Seems like he wasn't wanted just by her. All the tears she'd been holding up just bursted like a bonfire in an August night. She'd known that he had the habbit of simply vanishing when things got too tough for him, or too real. So she sat by the window, crying endlessly. She remembered all the times she got scared he might run away, and all the happy times. The rollercoaster of feelings she was percieving every time he hugged her, touched her. She remembered how he held her tight in the cold bed because they had turned off their heat. They weren't rich, you know. But they were happy. Until now, that is. How they would sometimes get away to a branch house of a friend of his. Just sneaking and jumping in through the window. Skinny dipping in the lake. Then she smiled. But it was a sour smile. She had smiled for all of those beautiful things they have done together, all of those breathtaking moments, surprises. But she knew the chances were small of having those moments again. She poured herself a cup of tea, shaking, and drank it fastly to warm up. Feeling hopeless, she just lied on her bed. Their bed. Everything in the apartment reminded her of him. Of them. She closed her eyes and took a long nap just to try and get all of these things out of her head. A knock woke her up again. This time, it wasn't a gentle knock, such as Henrey, the postman's. It was a violent knock, immediately asking for the door to be opened. As if it was.. "The police! Open up, we have a warrant!" She freezed. She knew they weren't looking for her. It could only mean one thing. Shaking, even more than before, she dragged her empty body to the door and opened it, very slowly. Only now, she was completely frozen. It had seemed to her like a dozen men in uniforms were scattered up around her apartment. A woman, apparently a detective kept asking her: "Where is he? Tell us, where is he?" But she was still very much like a sculpture. Standing there, living something surreal. They took her to the station, where they questioned her. Like she needed someone else to help her relive the pain. They mentioned the word "narcotics", "dealing" and "robbery" in his file, but it was too much for her to take. It was almost as if they didn't trust her because of how much of this she didn't know. She knew he was troubled, not a criminal. If the questioning had kept going for even a brief second longer, she'd have gone crazy. This way, she was only left denial. They decided to keep her in for one day to see whether she was involved in her boyfriend's business. But she couldn't take it. All of a sudden, in her prison cell, she became nauseous and scared, dizzy and frightened. It had all led to one moment, the moment where the only thing she could see was a blurry picture of the cell's grey, leaking ceiling. She closed her eyes.